Page 107 of Heat Lightning

Saint knelt in front of me. I blinked until his face came into focus. “Gwen is on her way to stay with Enzo. Five minutes, tops. You and I will follow the car.”

“I have to go now,” I said, words thick and slurred. “You stay. I go.”

My brother shook his head. “You’re practically feral; I’m not letting you do this alone. You need to calm down, get up, and get ready. Where’s your gear bag?”

“Car,” I croaked. It was parked in the garage Max didn’t go in, because he wasn’t supposed to know who I was. But then I’d fallen in love, and he had to know.

Except that wasn’t quite right, either, because I knew he was going to be mine the first moment I scented him, didn’t I?

Saint snapped in my face, pulling me back. “You’ve gotta hold it together for a little while longer. We both need a level head to do this right. Max needs you, yes?”

I nodded, but looked at Enzo. “You can’t come with me,” I said. He’d completely stepped back from this life when Enzo was born. It was too dangerous, and there was too much at risk.

Enzo deserved a present father, not a dead one.

“I’m not walking away from you, remember? Now, do those breathing exercises, and I’ll be right back. Then, we hunt.”

Yes, my alpha snarled. Let’s hunt.

A thrill ran through me, even as something familiar ached in my chest at my brother’s words. I hadn’t hunted in two years, not really. Not fully. It was fitting my first time back would be with him—and for Max.

I centered myself. I was good at hunting. Great, actually, and Max needed me at my fucking best to save him again. He needed a plan, and as long as it ended with me tearing out Joseph Weber’s throat followed by keeping Max forever and ever, I could hold it together long enough to execute it.

Cold, killing calm settled over me like frost. I was built for this. I was made for this; carved from the fear and anger of my childhood into exactly who my mate needed.

Saint stormed back inside and tossed the bag at me. “I have to change. Enz, let's get ready for a movie night with Gwen.” He ushered the boy upstairs.

Once alone, I unzipped the bag and pulled out my dark pants and hoodie, quickly throwing them on. I clipped my knife onto my belt and dug out one of the snarling masks, bunching it in my hands.

This was the face of a monster—a killer. Someone I was afraid Max wouldn’t want. Right now, though, it was exactly who he needed most.

It was also the face Weber expected to find hiding in the dark. Through the red haze of feral anger, I planned.

The hunt was on.

THIRTY

MAX

A loud crack followed by a sharp sting on my cheek pulled me from the darkness.

I blinked against the harsh afternoon light and coughed, my throat choked with dust. I was flat on my back, and the ground beneath me was cold and unforgiving.

Where the hell was I? Where was Gwen? Why did my head hurt so much?

Another stinging slap landed across my cheek, knocking my head to the side. I spit out another mouthful of dirt and dust. “What the fuck?” I yelled, looking around.

“Wake up.”

My blood ran cold as that voice brought back a flood of memories. The diner bathroom, texting Atlas—oh, God, Atlas—and opening the door to find…

Joey.

I scrambled away from him and stood. The back of my head throbbed. “What’s going on?” I asked, voice shaky. “Where are we?”

He paced back and forth across the dirty, concrete floor littered with debris, wringing his hands and muttering to himself. I glanced behind him, squinting to see the darkened corners of the room.

We were in the middle of a large, open space with dilapidated metal walls on all sides. A beam of light fell across the center where we stood from a broken-out window high above, but otherwise the area was dim and dingy.